Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 01 - Gunfight at Grace Gulch

by Darlene Franklin

  “No one is going to think that,” Audie said. He held the paper and read the article for himself, as if hoping the contents would change.

  “Hah! You don’t know small towns. That’s exactly what they’re going to say.” Dina sniffed.

  The rumor mill wouldn’t stop there. I hoped Dina could see that. “They’re also going to be asking each other, ‘Don’t you have your grandfather’s old Colt? What model was it?’ The next time I stop in at Gaynor Goodies, Jessie will have a more accurate listing of all the model 1892s in existence in Grace Gulch than if the tax assessor took an inventory. It’s not all that unique.”

  Dina glared at me, challenging my logic.

  “I’ve noticed that people here hang on to old guns and farm implements the way some people refurbish classic cars.” Audie grinned. “Half the towns in Lincoln County have a historical society, and the most popular item after period clothing”—he nodded at me—“any clothing Cici hasn’t laid her hands on, that is—seems to be old guns.”

  “Think of Mayor Ron’s office. You’ve seen that special case over his desk where he keeps Bob Grace’s original gun.” Every tour of the town hall ended at the mayor’s office, and the gun case drew all eyes. That, and all the memorabilia he had collected from other Grace cities.

  Dina stomped her foot. “But no one cares about everybody else’s guns. Not even the mayor’s guns, because we borrowed them for the play, and he didn’t take part. A Colt model 1892—one that I handled and that I vetted for use—did shoot Penn Hardy. And now we know that a Colt model 1892 killed him. Ergo, I supplied the gun, and Cord shot the one that killed Penn Hardy.”

  Audie cleared his throat to protest.

  “Okay, okay. The same model of gun that killed him. Big difference.” Dina wandered into the front room and came back with the doughnut holes I had bought at Gaynor Goodies that morning. “These are delicious. You should get them more often.” She swallowed three of them whole. “I’ve got class in half an hour. See you later.” She crammed headphones over her ears, her head already bobbing before she shut the door behind her. Maybe her favorite Christian music would soothe her spirits where our words had failed.

  “I have to talk with the mayor.” I couldn’t put it off any longer. Ever since his name appeared on our list of suspects, I had dreaded the idea of questioning the most powerful man in our town. Even if he was Cord’s cousin and a loveable eccentric.

  “Him, and Mitch Gaynor.” Audie rolled up the newspaper and drummed the table with it. “I can get away again tomorrow morning. Does that work for you?”

  Knowing Audie intended to come with me made my insides wiggle like a happy puppy. “The city offices open at nine. I can come in to work late.”

  “Good.” Audie looked up the phone number in the slim city directory I kept behind the cash register and called for an appointment. “Nine tomorrow morning. Thanks. We’ll be there.” He hung up the phone, rapped the edge of the desk with his fingers, and frowned. “I was hoping that Dina had checked the gun boxes after the play. Maybe she had already returned the third gun to the mayor. That would have been the simplest solution.”

  “Yes. But—”

  “Now two of his weapons are in police custody. I don’t know how long they hold on to things like that. Until the case goes to trial?”

  “Probably. And now the other gun has disappeared. He’ll rue the day he agreed to lend us anything. He might turn the blame on us, you know.”

  “Hmm?” Audie scrubbed his hand over his jaw.

  “Like all good politicians do, to wiggle out of a tight spot. He might say that if we hadn’t come up with this harebrained scheme to reenact the gunfight, no one would have died. And his guns wouldn’t be involved in a homicide.” If the mayor said that, he’d be blaming Audie even more than me. Tears threatened to spill out. “Somehow the blame always seems to fall on me or someone I. . .care about.” Did I almost use the word love? It was far too soon.

  “I won’t let that happen. This time you have me.” Audie lifted my chin with one long, slender finger and looked into my eyes, his eyes as clear as our city lake, hints of forever in their depths.

  “All right.” My fears faded away. This man would direct the next few days as effectively as he staged a play. “All’s well that ends well.”

  “That’s my girl. Of course you’re scared of thinking the worst of people you know. Wilde said, ‘The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis for optimism is sheer terror.’”

  Oscar Wilde again. Who else would Audie quote to lighten the mood? I really needed to rediscover the playwright. I searched my limited knowledge. “Dorian Gray?”

  “That’s it.”

  “I have to admit that he has a point. Again.”

  “But after all, we have God on our side, and whom shall we fear?”

  “Hey, not fair, now you’re quoting from the Psalms. Even I know that one. Psalm 27.” Our music director had sung an unforgettable rendition of the lyrics more than once. The thunderous refrain echoed in my mind and I relaxed. “The Lord is my light and my salvation. He will show the way.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  I stayed busy for the remainder of the day, but that didn’t prevent me from thinking about the investigation. Which gun killed Penn? Was it one of the guns borrowed for the play? Don’t think about that now, you’ve got new customers to add to your client list. I grabbed the guest register from the weekend—almost full after only one weekend’s business—and added new names to my growing database of potential customers.

  Who took the third gun? I updated my accounting files with recent shipments and printed out monthly statements. I couldn’t pay bills if I didn’t get paid.

  Is the Sequoian in financial trouble? And if it is, does it have anything to do with Penn’s murder? If so, the connection didn’t seem obvious. I added recent bills to my tickler file and wrote out checks for bills due within the next week.

  Cord called mid afternoon. “What’s this I hear about a missing prop gun?”

  I should have known. The grapevine didn’t need listening devices to keep up with the latest news. It plucked information out of thin air.

  “Reiner came around to ask me about it,” Cord explained.

  So Audie must have told the police about his discovery.

  “What does he think? That I had both guns in my holster and shot two-handed? Even my great-grandfather didn’t pretend to do that.” His voice softened. “Not that I know of.”

  “A gun is missing.” I twirled the phone cord while we talked. “Please don’t add to the rumor mill. Audie and I are going to talk with Mayor Ron tomorrow morning and explain the situation.” And ask some questions, but Cord didn’t need to know that.

  “I want to come with you.”

  “That’s not a good idea.” The last time Cord met Audie face-to-face, they pecked at each other like roosters. If that happened again, we wouldn’t get a thing out of the mayor.

  “If you say so.” Cord must have heard about all the time I spent with Audie this week, and my refusal probably felt like a rejection. I didn’t like to hurt him—he was a good friend—but I wasn’t sure what to do.

  “Why don’t we get together some time this weekend, and I’ll tell you everything that I’ve learned so far.”

  “It’s a date.” Cord sounded positively cheerful as he accepted my alternative and hung up.

  Customers came and went until it was time to close up shop. The Word of Truth’s Wednesday night Bible study and prayer meeting kept me occupied for a couple of hours. After that, I puttered around the house, vacuuming the living room floor, and decided to call it an early night about nine thirty.

  As usual, I headed for my closet to decide what to wear the next day. Cecilia Wilde, you are beautiful just as you are. Don’t you dare change on me. Audie’s words ricocheted through my body, spreading warmth from head to toe in its path. I giggled. Even so, a paint-stained OU shirt was
n’t appropriate office wear. I dressed to please myself and to model my product.

  I chose a pair of purple bell-bottom slacks that would slide well over black leather boots, a tie-dyed long-sleeved shirt, and multicolored beads. I could leave my hair in its flyaway state for my ’60s look. Which coat? I grinned. My trench coat, of course. It didn’t quite match the ’60s-style, but it fit in with my detective plans for the day.

  ~

  The doorbell rang at half past eight the following morning. Audie. I rushed to open the door. He hunched his shoulders against the predicted rain that splashed on the ground, turning the red dirt into mud.

  “Good morning, Detective Wilde.” He grinned at my trench coat. “You’re looking good. If you don’t mind, I thought we could drive to the city offices in your car. My windshield wipers need to be replaced.” He hung up his windbreaker on my coat rack and headed for my desk. “I thought we should take Bob Grace’s letter we found with us. Ask the mayor if Penn had shown it to him.”

  The doorbell rang again, startling me. Who else would come to my house at this early hour? I looked out my peephole. Cord. Oh, no. I couldn’t leave him outside in the rain, so I opened the door. “Come in.”

  “Howe! I thought I would find you here.” Cord removed his Stetson and hung it on the coat tree, rain drops clinging to his springing golden curls. “I wanted to catch you both before you take off for Ron’s office. I know you too well, Cici. You’re going there to question him about the guns. I can’t believe you’re seriously considering my cousin as a murderer.” He cocked his elbows at an angle to his waist, poster boy of belligerence.

  Audie and I looked at each other. He shrugged. This one is up to you.

  I plunged ahead. “The mayor was in an ideal place to see what happened.”

  “And if he saw anything, anything at all, he’s already told the police about it. They did question him, you know. Reiner couldn’t resist the opportunity to grill one of the Graces.” Cord’s chin jutted out, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He gestured at my trench coat. “This is just like you. You think you’re a Samantha Spade and that all you have to do is talk to people and they’ll tell you things they never mentioned to the police.”

  My face flamed. Audie had referred to my detective getup as well, but he made it a compliment.

  “Just a minute, Grace.” Audie spoke for the first time since Cord entered the house. “Cici is asking questions because you and Dina are both under suspicion. Don’t you get it? She’s trying to help you. Somebody killed Penn Hardy, and your cousin is one of the people in the right place to make the shot.”

  Cord took a step toward Audie.

  “Don’t you see?” I stood between the two men. This was worse than I feared. “We have to talk with the mayor, if only to eliminate him.”

  “And I trust Cici,” Audie continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “To follow the truth, wherever it leads. Now, if you don’t mind, we have a nine o’clock appointment.” He opened the door and gestured for Cord to leave.

  Cord looked at me one last long moment. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” He jammed his Stetson back on his head and walked through the door. We followed him.

  Once inside the car, I flicked on the heater, although I felt fine. Audie had championed me, and it warmed me to my toes. But only heat would defog the car windows.

  “Thanks for taking your car today.” He spoke as if nothing special had happened, as if he hadn’t stood up for me to a prime alpha male.

  “No problem.” We drove the short distance to the city office building, rebuilt at the edge of town for the millennium.

  “Do you know why Grace Gulch doesn’t have a town square? You know, court and jail and all that in the center of town?”

  “Save that for your county seats. No, we’re just small potatoes here. We don’t even have our own jail.” We found a parking place and dashed inside.

  Ron’s secretary, Betty Bruner, greeted us at the door with her high-pitched squeal. The shapely blond provided the town’s only competition to Suzanne Jay’s come-hither looks. “I’m sorry, you can’t see Mayor Grace just now. He has a visitor.”

  “A visitor? We have a nine o’clock appointment,” I protested. Now that I had mustered the courage to come, I didn’t want it to seep away while we waited.

  “The gentleman came in with the mayor this morning. I’m sure it will be just a few minutes.”

  I wanted to ask about the mayor’s unexpected visitor but decided against it. Girlish voice and sexy appearance aside, Betty did a good job and kept the mayor’s business affairs in order and as secret as they could be in a small town.

  Soon the murmur of voices behind the door grew to a dull roar.

  “That sounds like—” Audie began.

  “Mitch Gaynor.” I had recognized the voice at the same time.

  We stared at each other. What a stroke of luck. The two suspects we had not yet questioned were at the same place at the same time, and more than that, appeared to be having a serious disagreement. I wanted to creep closer to the door to hear better. While I considered the wisdom of such a move, Betty appeared in front of us.

  “You look cold. I brought you some fresh coffee.”

  That settled it. I couldn’t sneak around with a cup of hot java in my hand.

  Mayor Ron’s voice rose to a bellow. The three of us turned our heads as words exploded through the closed door. “Repeat that. . .dead man. . .”

  Repeat what? What had Mitch said? The mayor’s threat echoed the argument between the original Grace and Gaynor at the time of the land run.

  Different sounds replaced shouts. A crash, the sound of glass breaking, followed by a thud, then a crack loud enough to shatter my eardrums.

  Betty sprang to the door.

  “Call 911!” Audie barked at her and pushed past her into the mayor’s office.

  The glass of the gun case holding Bob Grace’s gun was shattered, the velvet lining empty. Gaynor and Grace faced each other like duelers at high noon, shock mirrored on both faces.

  Mitch Gaynor clutched his left arm, blood dripping from his fingers.

  And Mayor Ron held a smoking gun.

  15

  September 20, 1891

  Dearest Mary,

  I’m certain you spent the night on your knees for me although you could not yet have received word of my plans. A preacher who has joined the thousands at the border, hoping to make the run for the town of Chandler, held a service.

  We sang many familiar tunes, including my favorite, “Amazing Grace.” He preached from Isaiah 43:19. “Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness.” The words resounded in my heart. The preacher warned against moving ahead of God’s timing; God will make everything new and right and beautiful in His time.

  I am torn. My mind was settled, but now I feel ashamed. How can I fail you again? Numbers at the border have swollen beyond count, each one certain that this is his opportunity for a new life. It helps me to pour out my heart to you, even though events will have been decided before you see my words.

  Your loving fiancé,

  Robert Grace

  ~

  Thursday, September 26

  I stood rooted to the spot for the space of a heartbeat. The irony of the situation registered. This was the true reenactment of the original gunfight, in reverse. Dick Gaynor had wounded Bob Grace in the arm; now Bob’s grandson Ron had wounded Dick’s grandson Mitch the same way. I doubted that it was a fatal wound, but blood dripped in an ominous puddle on the plush beige carpet.

  “You’ll pay for this.” Mitch circled the mayor, an animal made fierce by injury, the difference in their heights menacing in the circumstances. “You shot me on purpose!”

  “You stupid—stupid—” The mayor couldn’t find a word worthy of the insult that wanted to escape his lips. “Gaynor.” A Grace could think of no greater insult. “If I meant to shoot you, I would have done more
than nick your arm.” Red anger suffused his normally placid face and sent fingers up his bald head. “It was an accident.”

  “That’s one accident too many, if you ask me. First Penn, now me. The Graces have always had a feud with the Gaynors; you can’t deny it. You should all be locked up.” Mitch shook his fist in the mayor’s face, spraying fresh drops of blood to the floor.

  “Sit down, both of you.” Audie spoke with authority. They complied.

  The two men glared at each other, hurling verbal insults, but at least they didn’t come to blows. I glanced at the empty gun case and remembered that the mayor still held the gun in his hands. In the high emotions of the moment, he might decide to shoot again. I suppressed a shiver.

  I started to reach for the gun, then stopped myself. Fingerprints. “Why don’t you put the gun on your desk?” I suggested.

  Ron jumped, a blank look taking over his face at the interruption. He stared at the gun in his hand as if he had forgotten about it. “Good idea.” He hefted the weight in his palm and eyed the mechanism. “I didn’t shoot you on purpose, Mitch. I don’t even remember pulling the trigger.” After brushing aside slivers of glass with a tissue, he set the gun down. He stayed on his feet. He usually did—as short as he was, he looked ridiculous behind the big mayor’s desk.

  For answer, he received a muttered curse.

  “What do you remember?” I asked. “How did the gun case get broken?”

  The mayor studied the display case, which held pride of place over his head in the mayoral office. Shards of glass had scattered across the entire end of the office. Cracks marred the frame of his diploma from Grace Gulch High School and his photo with the governor. The only thing untouched was the “Grace World Map,” which should please him. Multicolored pushpins still located all the communities and organizations containing the word Grace in their name. The proudest piece of Grace World memorabilia, a Maori tiki from Grace City, New Zealand, had fallen on its side. I closed my eyes, dredging up memories of the office layout from my last visit. What was out of place? I opened them again. I couldn’t remember.